“Let’s say somebody had some intimate knowledge of you,” Stan said. “And he was to go public. Might damage your reputation.”
“Depends,” I said, my blood pressure beginning to rise. “I’m your basic law-abiding citizen. Sex between men isn’t illegal in Hawai’i.” The first sodomy law had been enacted in 1850, though the last case had been prosecuted in 1958, and subsequent revisions to the criminal code had all but removed the penalties.
“It is when money’s involved.”
Stan look a long drink from his beer and I looked at him. I had a feeling I knew where he was going.
“I’ve never had to pay.”
“But what if someone paid on your behalf?” he asked. “And what if there was videotaped evidence?”
A tour bus pulled up outside and honked its horn, and most of the sunburnt haoles in the bar got up to leave. I didn’t think they had any idea that the Rod and Reel Club, a kitschy destination by day, turned into a steamy gay club after dark. When they’d all left, I turned to Stan. “If you’re talking about Lucas, I have some bad news for you. First, he’s dead. And second, before he died he told the Vice department what had gone on. So there’s nothing there that could hurt me.”
Stan’s body language stiffened, and I could see a shadow of the temper that Gunter had seen when Stan hit the Filipino maintenance man. He was a guy who didn’t like to be crossed.
“There’s a difference between being told something, and seeing it in living color,” he said. “I don’t know that’s a difference you’d be able to withstand.”
The adrenaline was flowing, and I had to resist the impulse to punch Stan in his jowly red face. But showing him that I wasn’t afraid wasn’t necessarily the best course of action. I had to understand him before I acted. Why was he threatening me? Did he know that we were closing in on him? Or was I just the latest target of his blackmail ring?
“Suppose I was nervous,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Suppose I wanted to make sure that whatever evidence there was never came to light. What would I do?”
“For now, sit tight.” Then, leaning close to my ear, he said, “That is, if your ass has recovered from the battering it got from Lucas.”
Fred came by to see if we wanted another round. “Maybe something with a fruity little umbrella?” he asked. Both of us declined.
Once Fred left, Stan said, “That’s a very sexy video, detective. I’ve watched it quite a few times myself and I always find it entertaining. You’ve missed a promising career in porn.”
“I’ll stick to police work.”
Stan drained the last of his beer. “Then I’ll be in touch.” He dropped a twenty on the bar for Fred and walked out.
I called Ray to let him know that Stan was on the move. “He parked at the garage on Seaside Avenue,” Ray said. “I’ll wait for you by the side entrance.”
I paid Fred, declined his offer of a quick step into one of the private rooms in the back of the building, and walked over to the garage. As I got into the Highlander, Ray said, “Stan just took off. Heading out toward Diamond Head.”
“Maybe he’s going home now.”
I called Gunter and let him know that Stan had been checking out the bar. “I’m being good. Well, maybe not good, but I’m staying home.” In the background I heard another man’s voice, and Gunter laughed. “Gotta go, brah. Thanks for the warning.”
Ray and I followed Stan, keeping a safe distance back in rush-hour traffic on the Kalaniana’ole Highway. “Stan seems to think he can blackmail me, based on the photos and video,” I said, looking out the window. I turned back to Ray. “Obviously he doesn’t know who he’s up against.”
“Obviously not.” Ray turned into Hawai’i Kai and climbed up to the community of Kalama Valley, nestled near the foot of Koko Head crater.
It’s a quiet suburban neighborhood, favored by those who want less congestion than in the rest of Hawai’i Kai. Stan pulled into the driveway of a nicely kept ranch with a tall hibiscus hedge around the entire property. Behind the shield of red and yellow blossoms and green leaves stood two coconut palms. He went inside, coming back out a minute later with a Siberian Husky on an expandable leash.
He was smoking a cigar, letting the dog pull him along the curving street as it sniffed and peed. We slouched back in the SUV, and Stan went in the opposite direction with the dog, so he didn’t spot us.
The Ko’olau Mountains provided a lush backdrop to clean streets and manicured lawns. Every house had flowering plants in the yard, all shades and sizes of hibiscus and bougainvillea. “Ritzy area,” Ray said. “Stan must be doing pretty well for himself.”
A half hour after Stan returned with the dog, the garage door opened, and Stan, dressed in full leathers, roared out on his Harley, a red do-rag wrapped around his head. We followed him back down to the Kalaniana’ole Highway, but instead of heading toward Honolulu he turned in the other direction.
At least we had a great view as we stayed a couple of cars behind him, going past Makapu’u Point, where the surfers were catching the last few waves before darkness fell. In the distance we could see Rabbit Island, now a seabird sanctuary, and a couple of albatross and frigatebirds soaring over the ocean.
Stan pulled up in the parking lot of a biker bar outside Waimanalo Beach. The wind was whipping the waves to a white froth, spraying a fine layer of sand across the highway. We parked across the road and about a quarter of a mile away. “You think I ought to go in there?” Ray asked.
I looked at him. “You?”
“Well, the guy knows you,” he said.
“Look at the lineup of bikes out there. Don’t you think you’d stand out?”
“I can be tough when I have to.”
“I don’t doubt it. But to be effective you’d need some leathers and a bike, and we don’t have either of those. I say we give up on surveillance tonight. We’ve got a lot of research to do tomorrow morning. I doubt Stan’s going to pick up a guy tonight at this bar.”
“You never know. He’s a gay biker, after all.”
“If there was such a thing as a gay biker bar on O’ahu, I’d know it,” I said. “After all, I am the official homosexual of the Honolulu Police Department.”
“As opposed to the unofficial ones,” Ray said, putting the SUV in gear.
“We don’t talk about them.”
On our way back downtown, I called Haoa and found out that he and Tatiana were at the office, photocopying the records on every employee. “Remember, just because there’s no paperwork, it doesn’t mean the guy’s illegal,” I said. “It could just be that Sergei’s sloppy.”
“Yeah, go on thinking that,” Haoa said.
We rolled the windows down and the trade winds swept in the cooling night air. Was Sergei just trying to satisfy Haoa’s constant need for staff? Or was there something else? I’d seen the photos of him on MenSayHi, so I knew he had more than just a tangential connection to Mr. Hu and Stan.
Rather than making the turn onto Lili’uokalani, which would have put him in the wrong direction for home, Ray dropped me off on Kalakaua and I walked around for a few minutes, trying to work things out.
The constant parade of car headlights, combined with the neon and the store lighting, made it hard to see any stars, but a slice of moon hung above the ocean, clouds moving swiftly past it. There was a cacophony of noise around me-rap music, car horns, and loud laughter-but I felt cocooned from it all, my brain working through the case. But by the time I got home I hadn’t come up with anything new. After I’d stripped off my shirt and fixed some dinner, I relaxed with a book for a while. Around nine I called Mike. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hanging out,” he said. “Your burn guy from last night go to the
ER?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t hear from him.”
“Don’t you have a buddy in the ER?”
